


Road trips are only so much fun

by pocket_of_stars



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic Road Trip, is there a tag for post-apocalyptic road trips???? there should be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocket_of_stars/pseuds/pocket_of_stars
Summary: Newt Lives!AU, where it’s only customary to finish your rebellious heist and your involvement in destroying an entire city in the matter of hours with a shorter post-apocalyptic road trip together with your – not dead! – best friend. Yeah.





	Road trips are only so much fun

**Author's Note:**

> This is my tmr secret santa gift 2018! I should've started writing it earlier but at the same time I'm not surprised because it is me we're talking about.

_ 24 hours after destruction of the Last City _

“I kinda wish we had music.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow but doesn’t turn his head from looking out the window. “What?”

“Music, you know,” Thomas is pretty sure Newt shrugs, can imagine his collar bone stretching against still flushed skin as Newt moves against the uncomfortable seat trying to find a position where his body doesn’t hurt as much. Thomas been trying that for over an hour, but the wound in his side won’t really let up, and the killer headache is only easy to ignore if Newt keeps talking.

“I have a feeling you’re supposed to listen to music while on the road.”

“We aren’t exactly _on_ a road.”

“Same thing, Tommy.” Thomas finally stops staring numbly out at the heat rolling in waves in the distance and turns towards Newt.

He’s driving. The conversation after Newt discovered the knife-wound is still stark clear in Thomas’ mind; the tears, the apologies He’d only mildly complained when Newt insisted he’d take over the wheel. Thomas had half a mind to explain to Newt that the wounds he’d acquired in the city was superficial compared to the fact that Newt _almost died_.

We’re both to stubborn, Thomas thinks. At least Newt looks more alert now. He strikes a cutting figure despite the obvious exhaustion. The blazing pink evening light makes him look less pale, and his dirty hair appear golden again. A quick glance and maybe Thomas would think Newt was simply on a journey to something happy, rather than escaping from something terrible. High up on his throat Thomas can still spy vague veins matching the purpling bruises on Newt’s temple and right eye. Guilt’s back and it punches Thomas right in the stomach, the half-relaxed state of mind he’d slipped into – partly just exhaustion rearing its head again – after they’d started driving again.

_WCKD, Teresa, cure, Minho, fire, shooting, breathe Newt please breathe Teresa do something_ -

_You can’t save everyone, Thomas_.

Thomas knows that. Knows what Brenda tried to say. He _knows_. But back in the city, at that moment, with buildings on fire around them and people screaming, shooting, falling dead in the distance there was this painstakingly clear thought in Thomas’ head, together with the echoing

Newt had to live – he had to live, and Thomas picked his almost limp body into his arms and started running back.

Towards WCKD.

Thomas made a choice, to return and then to leave. Because, Newt isn’t someone he can sacrifice.

Forcing himself back to here and now, to the car and the Scorch and Newt talking (breathing) beside him.

“Music, huh,” Thomas says in a clumsy attempt at dragging his mind back to the conversation, “if you- if you wanted to sing so bad, Newt, you could’ve just said so.”

“Ha ha, Tommy tries to be funny,” Newt says and jabs a weak finger into his ribs.

Thomas isn’t sure if Newt purposely holds back because of the wound in Thomas’ side or if he’s still feeling weak after- well, _everything_ , but concludes that Newt will stop smiling if he asks him if he’s feeling all right one more time, so he lets it go.

“Do you remember any songs?” He asks instead, and then immediately regrets it.

This is something that haunts Thomas in his dreams; a woman singing in a breezy, warm voice – and Thomas has no idea if Newt is plagued by the same thing. Newt doesn’t look upset though, just purses his lips in thought before answering.

“Not exactly. No songs from before the maze, but we used to come up with them all the time in the Glade.”

Thomas hums in affirmative. Thinks that he didn’t know that. So many things he still didn’t know or understand about the place Newt and the others had lived in for so long. For as long as they could remember, anyway.

“We’ll soon be there,” Thomas says instead. The Scorch around him getting more and more familiar the closer they get to the Right Arm’s camp.

 

 

_ Three hours after destruction of the Last City _

Thomas flinches, grips the wheel tighter and focuses furiously on the road.

_Stay awake, stay awake_ , Thomas chants meticulously. The speed had steadily slowed down in tandem with his eyes taking longer to open every time he blinked, and Thomas presses against the gas hard while flicking between the mirror and the dirt wasteland stretching all around the old car sputtering as its driver hurries it along. Tense and wary, Thomas _forces_ the panic and sheer exhaustion of being awake for so long back, the pain in his side is just a dull throbbing now, but blooms as soon as he twists in his seat. Thomas should probably check the bandages. Thomas should probably stop to sleep. _Thomas should probably be dea-_

The pile of blankets in the back-seat coughs and the wet, awful sound makes Thomas flinch. He relaxes the pressure on the gas and throws a look back just in time to see the flimsy, grey pieces of fabric that’d been in the car when Thomas hot-wired the car move. The person under it obviously awake.

“You okay back there?” Thomas asks nervously.

The pile groans.

Thomas lets the car slow down, but he can’t help but take an extra look around to see if there’s anyone close, which is ridiculous because they’re in the goddamn desert and haven’t seen anyone for hours. Yet Thomas can’t stop feeling like something’s following them, preparing to snatch away what Thomas had so desperately tried to save.

“Newt? You okay?”

Blond curls pop up from under a blanket, and Thomas meets Newt muddled eyes before he shuts them tight and groans again.

“Yeah,” Newt says, which totally means _not really_ , and then continues thickly, “where’s- where’re we?”

“About two hours from the city, we should be by the tunnel soon.”

Newt’s face looks so blank for a moment, Thomas feels cold tendrils of fear wrap around his heart; does Newt even remember? Then Newt’s eyes become clear and he looks around him with newfound understanding. Thomas can breathe again.

“We were running, you told Minho and Gally to run ahead,” Newt recalls. He speaks slowly, maybe so it won’t be as obvious that he’s slurring.

“Yes.”

“You…we were running too. Then it’s all black. Did you talk to me? I can’t remember-“ Newt brings up a shaky hand to pull through his hair; a familiar move he’d taken to after growing his hair out again. But Newt stops abruptly, staring at his bruised knuckles with an unfathomable expression.

Thomas swallows. His mouth is as dry as sand.

“Tommy,” Newt says, still watching the dried blood colouring his skin, “what happened?”

Thomas fights back a sudden need to cry. He hears it all over again. Sees it all over again. The stark contrast between the chaotic streets and the clean, empty labs of the WCKD headquarters tearing through his mind so badly it leaves a streak of white in its wake. The sound of crumbling stone, turning around just as the building goes down. With Teresa still in it.

Above a bleeding Thomas and a still unconscious Newt, the engines of a Berg as it changed it direction and started going in the opposite direction.

Away from them.

 

_ Seven hours after destruction of the Last City _

“Tommy…” Newt brushes over the crusted blood on his chest with shaky fingers and Thomas head spins.

He’d pushed up his shirt while Newt was busy rummaging through the trunk, trying to find anything they could use while taking a break. Thomas reached the point where he couldn’t keep driving, and he’s still antsy about the thought of sleeping and leaving Newt to drive alone.

Thomas also taking the chance to look over his bandages, he didn’t count on Newt’s reaction seeing the condition Thomas had left the city in.

The small hole in his chest sticking painfully to his shirt especially. Thomas hadn’t had the time to care for it after punching Newt unconscious. Teresa had offered once she saw the blood but Newt didn’t wake up despite getting the cure and after that it was Jansen and a bullet wound, no matter if it just grazed his side or not, was his first priority to look after once he’d pulled Newt to safety from the crumbling building.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” Newt’s thin fingers tighten on the blanket, and Thomas realises he’s shaking, ever so slightly. “I’m so sorry, Thomas.”

“No-” Thomas tries. It catches in his throat- _I was so scared I’d lose you, please don’t apologise, I’m sorry too_ -

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says instead, “you weren’t yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt gasps a little, looks Thomas hard in the eye, “and thank you.”

Thomas falters. Can only meet Newt’s eyes that still looks so damn sad, but now with this bittersweet acceptance tinting them with light that Thomas hadn’t realised he’d missed. Newt looks more alive right now than he has for days, and it makes Thomas’ heart pump and break at the same time.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Newt places his hand on Thomas’ shoulder – the blanket slides down his own in the process – and hugs it tightly. Thomas feels like crying, and maybe he does, because Newt’s grip tightens and with his other hand he grips Thomas’s chin and tilts it up, making sure Thomas can’t look away as he tells him:

“It’s all right, now.”

It really, really isn’t, but Thomas is hopelessly grateful for Newt trying to make it so. As if they’re still in the maze and Thomas is scared, so scared and confused and angry and Newt is a rock, a root with a firm grip on the dirt under his feet, quick to pull Thomas closer – just a _bit_ , a _little_ – and tell him that yeah, things sucks, but okay. Okay. Cementing the fact Thomas’ has known from the start, no matter obstacles shouting at his face that it’s impossible.

They’ll get through this. The only way left is forward.

“Oh.”

Thomas looks up. Newt is staring at his chest again, except now he focuses on the familiar thing hanging around Thomas neck.

“Here. It’s yours,” Thomas carefully takes the necklace and tries handing it to Newt.

Newt stares at in silence for a minute, then shakes his head. “I gave it to you for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says slowly. _Do you think I’m an idiot, I know the reason_ , “But now I’m giving it back.”

This time Newt takes it. Somewhat hesitantly, he holds it up, looks at Thomas then back again before slipping it over his head. Thomas thinks he’ll say something, but Newt just grips the pendant tight.

“I’ll drive tomorrow,” Newt says.

__

 

_ 8 hours after destruction of the Last City _

They scramble together the things needed for a small fire. Newt does a quick job with it, even after Thomas having spent over six months on the run and learning how to cook his own food, mend his own clothes and sleep on the ground

(learning how to squeeze a trigger, how to aim and reload and take the recoil-)

but Newt, even with unsteady hands, is still better at these things after spending the last two years in the maze. He works diligently until the fire’s going. By then Newt looks so tired that Thomas immediately scrambles to get the food packages. Newt – _thank god_ – sits down and watches as Thomas fixes the rest.

They eat in silence. Both so focused on the food it’s impossible to anything but shuffle it into their mouths. When finished though, it doesn’t take long before they’re sitting close, talking about what to do next.

“You said we were going to go back to camp,” Newt says.

“They’ve all probably left already,” Thomas can’t help but grimace at the thought of Vince. He wishes he understood, one day, why Thomas had to go back, why they couldn’t just leave Minho behind.

“But it’s the only place I can think of,” Thomas is not scared to admit that he’s pretty clueless about what they should do now, this is Newt after all. All Thomas can think of is surviving another day. Going back to the Right Arm – even if they’d left already – is at least a start.

Newt nods in assessment, “Hopefully there’re some provisions left.”

They fall silent after that. It’s comfortable enough that Thomas thinks he can just fall asleep right then and there, and he must have, because suddenly Newt’s shaking him gently and whispers “Tommy”, and Thomas raises his head from where it had sunk down onto Newt’s shoulder.

“Sorry.”

“’S okay.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead, I’m glad you’re here with me.” Oh _yep_ , Thomas’ brain has totally checked out now.

Newt’s wrapped his arm around him but he stills at Thomas words, looking at him rather incredulously with a growing smile on his face. “Well, I’m glad I’m not dead too.”

Newt stops for a moment, considering, before adding, “Thanks to you, you know.”

They haven’t talked much about Thomas being the cure. Can’t really tackle _that_ yet. They’re silent for a longer time now, before Newt says, with a serious expression:

“I’m sorry about Teresa.”

Thomas, who’s almost fallen asleep again, stares up at Newt in chock.

“I knew you couldn’t stop thinking about here, even after everything she did,” even now Newt’s eyes darken at the thought of that evening with the Right Arm and WCKD. Thomas is remembered all over again, that while Newt is somewhat of an easy-going person, he’s not one to forgive and forget once you’ve passed the line.

“You tried your best, and she was important to you. Now we can blame the damn Flare as much as we’d like, but I wasn’t fair to you back then, and I’m sorry you lost her because of me.” Newt talks faster than usual, and Thomas can’t cut in even if he wants to.

Thomas doesn’t know what to say, but when Newt adds “I’m sorry I was so harsh towards you” Thomas knows he can’t let him continue. Doesn’t want to think about things lost. Doesn’t want Newt to look so sad and tense again.

“Newt.”

Newt shuts his mouth and turns back to look at Thomas. The fire splays orange over their faces and the scene is so familiar, they might as well be in the Glade still, or on the run from WCKD the first time, or sitting with the rest of the Right Arm after a day of relentless planning and scavenging for goods.

“Newt,” Thomas says and kisses him.

It’s wet, and warm – _does Newt still have a fever?_ – and it’s the second kiss Thomas remembers having and it’s perfect.

Newt makes a chocking sound and sits still for so long Thomas leans back consciously. Then Newt breaks out from his stupor, cups Thomas’ face in his hands and kiss him back. Thomas doesn’t know how long they sit there, lips locked and Newt’s hands moving from his face towards his neck where he rubs along his skin soothingly. Thomas wraps his arms around Newt’s waist and slides even closer. The hard ground and his half-empty stomach fades and the only thing Thomas can think of is Newt, Newt, Newt. Finally, they part to breathe properly.

Thomas can’t even care enough to swipe off the spit on his lips. They feel almost swollen, and he probably looks like an idiot right now; panting and staring dumbly at Newt.

“I want you to know-“ Newt cuts himself off, as if he literally, physically can’t continue without pressing close and undo Thomas all over again. His head spinning, Thomas wants to throw himself into Newt’s arms and never let go.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Newt whispers after leaning back, still close enough for his breath to touch Thomas’ lips.

“You have,” Thomas says, because it is the _truth_ , and he’d never got so far if Newt wasn’t standing next to him this whole time.

Newt looks surprised for a moment, then chuckles. “You sure you didn’t read the letter?”

“What letter,” Thomas says, not really paying attention. He just wants to kiss Newt again.

Newt sighs, then rolls his eyes.

“Nevermind.”

 

 

_ 13 hours after destruction of the Last City _

“ _Thomas,_ ” Teresa’s voice, tinny but still desperate echoing between the burning buildings in Thomas’ mind, “ _I need you to come back_.”

Thomas kicks off the blanket only to drag it back up again in his sleep.

“ _Come back, Thomas_. _You can still save_ -“

“Newt,” Thomas rasps and opens his eyes. All sleep chased away together with the last wisps of Teresa’s voice and Thomas is left staring at the ceiling of the car.

At this moment Thomas feels as lost as Newt looks sometimes, with no idea on how to find the way back. He twists and turns in the back-seat, where Newt insisted he’d lie after the whole ordeal. Newt sits in the front but is staring back at him now, eyes dark and awake. Neither says anything. Thomas waits three seconds before lifting his blanket. Newt doesn’t say anything as he climbs back and crawls next to him. There’s not much space and neither can really find a comfortable position, but it’s okay. They sleep, both taking comfort in each other.

 

 

_ 24 hours and 10 minutes after destruction of the Last City _

Newt starts humming on a tune. Repetitive and achingly familiar. Maybe Thomas heard it while sitting close, close by Newt that first night in the Glade, or maybe more recent, Newt’s voice a soothing presence in Thomas’ head. Always there.

 

 

_ 36 hours after destruction of the Last City _

They find a forgotten dunk half-filled with water and tries not to drain it completely before walking back to the beach to try to get the dirt and blood off their skin. When clean enough, Newt drags Thomas to the room they’d used as an infirmary to change his bandages. Afterwards, Thomas feels better than he has in days, weeks or _months_ , even. The last day he remembers finding this moment of peace…well, it’s probably the day they’d finally found the Right Arm, Brenda was going to be okay, Thomas had got the first real hug that he could remember, Frypan, Newt and Minho were right beside him smiling and Teresa-

Teresa was still there.

“Sit still,” Newt says impatiently, yet his hands are the same mix of gentle-but-firm as always.

“Sorry,” Thomas mutters into Newt’s hair as the other bend down to see the wound better as he cleans it carefully. Thomas breathes in, then scowls.

“You stink.”

“Shut up, you ugly shank.”

When they’re done in the infirmary, Thomas suggests looking for a radio or start pouring over the maps, maybe try to decide what to do next, but Newt pulls him in the direction of the sea again. The beach looks emptier now, without the ship swaying next to it. They both stand silently by the edge of some rocks. Thomas closes his eyes and breathes in, the feeling of Newt’s hand in his grounding him enough so that his mind can’t slip away to more unpleasant things, and Thomas is fully content with just standing there for a long time. He’s broken out of musing when Newt pulls his hand away. Thomas opens his eyes and looks at Newt.

Newt’s fumbling around with his necklace now. Thomas can’t stop looking at him, and-

 “I didn’t know it could do that,” Thomas says with wide eyes as Newt decisively pops open the small capsule that Thomas earlier thought was just for decoration, and he pulls out some neatly folded pieces of paper.

“Honestly? With my luck you probably never would have found out,” Newt rolls his eyes but cares for the papers gently.

“Would’ve written all this for nothing, eh?” He holds them up as if to skim through the text Thomas can see printed in black, even rows against the piss-white colour of the paper. He stands too far away for Thomas to be able to read what it says and when he moves to get closer, Newt quickly stops reading and half folds, half crumples the papers in his hands.

“Newt?”

Newt turns towards the water. The wind has finally picked up, it whips up waves and leaves traces of foam by the edge of the sand. With a quick motion, Newt throws away the bits of paper. Thomas chokes a little as the wind picks them up, threatening to blow them back in their faces before relenting. The papers single down the rocks and drowns under the next wave. They both stare silently as they soak up water.

“Um,” Thomas says, “wasn’t I supposed to read that?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Tommy,” Newt says and throws his arm around Thomas shoulders to lead him back towards camp. His smile looks so reassured that Thomas can’t help but relax against him. The sea roaring at their backs fades behind every breath Newt takes; steady and even. And- and in this moment it’s all okay. They’ll find Minho and the others, or they’ll find them, and they’ll get to the place Vince was talking about and Thomas can apologise for going behind the leader’s back, and probably be punched in the shoulder by Brenda before hugging her, and he can kiss Newt again in front of everyone and Minho will probably shout “ _fucking finally!_ ” and someday Thomas might be able to think about Teresa without wanting to cry and it will all be all right, in the end. It will. Newt’s here with him now and they’ll follow each other, always.

Newt grins at him, probably understanding exactly what’s going through Thomas’ head. Simply because he feels the same.

“Don’t worry, I’ll write you a new one.”


End file.
